Though I have been a Radiohead fan for thirteen years, since 1999, I have never been to a Radiohead show before, something I had always sought to remedy, I wouldn’t miss this for anything, even the long drive, and the fact that my next day begins at 5:00am.

Radiohead: June 10, 2012 setlist. (You can listen to the songs via this website too)

The Show: From the stellar 24-song setlist to the vibrant LED lighting apparatus and twelve moving screens the show was as amazing as I had hoped for. Thom Yorke is the focal point for the whole show, as he spreads himself across a fantastic range of moods and styles. Always transitioning between guitar and keyboards, and if engaged with neither, he gyrates, shimmies, and boogies while he sings his heart out. The other members on stage simply do their thing, always a presence but not the focus. The dual percussionists, consisting of the band’s drummer Phil Selway, and the new addition on this tour, Clive Deamer (plays with Portishead) positioned on either side of the bassist Colin Greenwood, are engaging for the whole show as well. The two other guitarists, Ed O’Brien and Jonny Greenwood, remain on each side of the stage providing backing vocals, and other various instrumentation. The complexity of many of the songs is amazing to witness when performed live. I simply must try to see them every time they come around from now on. I had heard they were playing a few songs I just adore, “Paranoid Android”, “Pyramid Song”, and “Where I End and You Begin (The Sky is Falling In)” this time out, but they did not play them tonight. Totally doesn’t matter though because we got the full songlist from King of Limbs (2011), two new songs—”Identikit” and “Full Stop” which got its live debut tonight, and the show closer “Street Spirit (Fade Out)” from as far back as the band’s second album The Bends (1995). This vid is from the night after (it has a better view I think).
I thought I could help my faulty memory by bringing my voice recorder and call out the setlist, but I assumed I would never get it into the place. So I brought a notepad. Holy crap, not only were my entries wrong, but they were illegible and for the most part written all over each other. I didn’t even notice the first encore. I swear only Thom left the stage and it was for about thirty seconds. I hooted my head off for the second encore though. This was an amazing experience for me. I was surprised we could get tickets for this and I would say for anyone who is a fan of this band, get to see them live.

The Venue: The experience at the First Midwest Bank Amphitheater was excellent. I would imagine it may vary from act to act, but Radiohead fans seem a most laid back, and non-raucous bunch. In the VIP area, and throughout the venue, every employee I encountered or had any conversation with was exceedingly friendly, polite, and seeming to be enjoying themselves. The VIP bathrooms look like a large port-a-potty, but they are very nice inside with finished walls, and a sink with running water, I wasn’t expecting anything like that so it was a nice addition to the experience. Other than the sound up in the second level skybox, and the prices of refreshments, I have zero complaints about the place.

The Drive: Was nothing. 75 miles, straight shot, no traffic.

The Value: The skyboxes are a little too high and far away for the high price of these seats. Our box was the highest and farthest over to the left of the stage before you can’t see the stage anymore. This may have something to do with the muddy sound quality. When I hear the sound quality of the videos taken of the night, “Full Stop” in particular, it’s clear the acoustics all the way up on top and to the side are very muffled. I couldn’t understand one word Thom Yorke said all night. If I was unfamiliar with Radiohead, I wouldn’t have been able to differentiate much from song to song. I realize seeing Radiohead is expensive regardless of where the seat is, but I won’t try to see them anywhere but on the main floor from now on.

Some extra commentary: I gave this show a few days to percolate, and I am glad I did. My interest in Radiohead waned a touch after the 2000 release of Kid A, and sadly, it was for superficial reasons. Luckily, things don’t go away just because I think I don’t like them anymore. I shallowly surmised that OK Computer (1997) was the band’s pinnacle, and they should embrace it as such. I still dutifully purchased their new albums as soon as humanly possible. On October 10, 2007, I charged to their website with furious glee to purchase In Rainbows, and pay what I thought it was worth—I was immeasurably flattered by this daring gesture and gracious opportunity from such a creative group of people whom I respected greatly enough already. Here in Chicago, I remember the old days of the Annoyance Theater and their production of “Co-ed Prison Sluts” when they let you in to see it for free, and you paid what you thought the play was worth on the way out. Well, at the Radiohead website, I must have gotten my currency conversion tables confused, and while in my head I thought, “Shit, I’m going to make their day,” and pay something crazy like $20 for In Rainbows, an extra thank you right into the band’s deserving little hands—damn straight! Oh and from the mountaintops did I brag—until I saw my credit card bill… Wait for it—how much do you think?—nope, more—I paid $45 bucks for In Rainbows! After a brief “holy shit” moment, I was still pleased as pie, and tremendously thrilled to be part of their experiment.

I know I liked Kid A, but it was weird. Its electronic notions were cool and it helps that I like a lot of Brian Eno, in particular his ambient stuff (compare Ambient 4: On Land (1982) with “Treefingers”), so I could appreciate this more experimental approach, you know, briefly. Now with Amnesiac (2001), an extension of Kid A, and then Hail to the Thief (2003) I had the feeling the band had gone too far from what I thought I liked about them. I dismissed the albums, and I am irritated by my shortsightedness. Both Nicolai and I kept saying to each other, “Maybe they’ll just grow on us.” I don’t remember exactly when it was that I realized how much I loved Amnesiac, and Hail to the Thief, my guess is around late 2005. I’d call that a huge amount of wasted time when the treasure is sitting right in your lap! So the real point to all of this is, upon seeing Radiohead live, I have a whole new and much stronger perspective on them and what they have done. I can be as hard on myself as I want about my lack of vision, but from here on out I know how to view this band, and it is a wonderful feeling. It would be easy for fans to say that King of Limbs is another Thom Yorke solo album (check out The Eraser (2006), it is awesome!), but when an artist’s voice is so indelible from an already passionate mindset, irrational comparisons are inevitable. This could be perhaps a whole separate article.

In the last few days, I have tried to play catch-up on my time of dismissal by immersing myself in everything I can find by Radiohead, and have come out of it with an appreciation for an artist I haven’t felt in a long time.

Here’s to many more years of new stuff from Radiohead!

Fratto 6 14 12

P.s. 6 16 12

Well wishes to all involved with the tragedy tonight in Canada. What a terrible set of circumstances.

Everyone who writes likes to know how he or she is doing.  As you start out, no matter how well you think you are writing; chances are good you still harbor the dreaded trappings of what John Gardner calls—The Amateur.

Before reading The Art of Fiction, I did not consider the “READER” as a factor in my writing output. It was all about word choice, and creative ideas. I had the pleasure of taking a critical look at The Art of Fiction for a creative writing class assignment dealing with a teaching instruction. Of the many titles assigned, I chose this book because of the high regard it had with my professor. I figured my instruction to the class might not simply be a recital of facts, and a glance at the table of contents, made one thing very clear—particularly Part 2—I was definitely going to be learning from this book, not just reciting for class—and learn I did.

In his book, The Art of Fiction: Notes on Craft for Young Writers, Gardner directly explores and illuminates the mindset and techniques of effective fiction writing. Truthfully, the examination is at times a hard pill to swallow and the reader/writer may find himself or herself worriedly ruminating over their abilities as a writer. Gardner displays his skills and knowledge with a fine precision; he points out and then routs out common misconceptions and errors in beginning writers and writing in general. The reader will know quite intentionally if they are “an amateur”.

For myself, I consider my writer’s skin to be thick enough to receive constructive criticism. Upon diving into The Art of Fiction, its effectiveness hit me at once as Gardner’s direct examples of amateur writing played across page, reflecting into my eyes—the exact kind of writing I was doing at that time! I had to question honestly, whether I had ever tried to learn anything about writing and storytelling. Certainly, I know words, and I make sentences. With these communicative tools, I say the things that I want the reader to know about my writing (not to mention make me feel good about myself as a writer).

However, thus revealed, is a standard misconception (and ego issue) a beginning writer is likely to hold on to—for dear life: The Reader must know that I am a great Writer.

The book addresses the serious question; how exactly will the writer (beginner or veteran) convince the reader (avid or casual) that he or she is a great writer? Is “convince” even an effective approach? Here begins my journey with this little book.

For example, bringing all my cohesive contemplation to bear on any prodigious project, I might expend extraordinary effort on word choice, only manifesting considerable focus on the grandiose for its effect, with nil perusal on dross—this reflective endeavor thusly generating due awe.

Seriously, yuck! Alliteration, consonance and some assonance aside—that is some unwieldy writing—no part of that sentence is reader-friendly. If I were to consider a few of the guidelines Gardner lies out, and swallow up my ego, that sentence could simply read:

For example, I used to think too much about my snappy word choices.

All this showiness brings me to my greatest discovery while reading The Art of Fiction. Gardner implores the would-be writer, for the reader’s sake, to hold on to the notion that good fiction is the result of the writer subverting his or her desires as a writer, and simply telling the story they mean to tell as if recounting an “uninterrupted, vivid dream.” This core concept came over me so simply I thought I must have read it wrong. It was, for me, the first time I had ever felt the total obliteration of a paradigm in my own head with a complete, immediate, and new cognizance of writing concepts I thought I fully grasped.

Suddenly, all my previous writing was irrelevant and I knew exactly why! This should have horrified me, but it was joyous!

Even the pieces I had turned in that week for a grade. They were full of me being full of myself. Bludgeoning the poor reader (my professor) again and again with how verbally and verbosely great I thought I was. These works were, at the time, the best I could do, and they were terrible and there was nothing I could do about it.

Well, there was one thing to do—get writing! Which I did, and am doing now. My writing feels new and fresh to me and I never once feel my ego plastering the walls with bravado and contrivance. (Even when the very thing I am writing is a contrivance!)

The lasting aspect of The Art of Fiction seems, to me, to be its wealth of scope.  It is not a very long book, but it is so packed with what a writer needs (whether they will like it or not), and it is always engaging the reader with meat, no fat here at all. I expect to read, and re-read this book many times (three times as of this piece (four times as of this revision)) regardless of my skill as a writer. I have spent time with writing books in the past, but none hit me so hard and so close to the mark I needed to be aware of to produce the kind of writing that makes me happy to be writing.

Consider this book to be a wrecking ball, a parachute, and a safety net all in one. Imagine that scene in The Matrix when Neo lies back in the machine, a neophyte nobody (Gardner would perhaps prefer just the word “fledgling”), and when he stands up after the machine does its work, rather than saying, “I know Kung-Fu,” he would instead say, “I know how to write.” I would say The Art of Fiction has done this for me.

This review and slight essay blossomed with all the precepts I picked up from the book in discussion, and I know after looking this article over I would have never settled for such easy diction and clear prose. My omnipresent old tendencies, some would call it skills, would have gloriously kicked in, and I, the claxon of written words would certainly arise to you the reader, a babe of humble experience, then precipitate to prove my superiority with relentless, forceful adjectives and obscure words of abstraction buttressing many harrowing sentences with far too many comma splices and concepts ranging all over many nebulous ideas while never really coming home on any particular point leaving you, the reader, feeling like somebody just shook your head very fast while spinning you quickly around at the edge of a cliff to let you wobble on its precipitous edge dangerously close and very certainly to plummet into the chasm, dashed upon the hard rocks of my terribly constructed, and blustery prose—Ahhhh. . . . At one hundred and thirty words I just can’t go on, sorry Mr. Gardner! (Page 203: Exercise 3: Write three 250 word sentences.)